The cosmic thread unfurls insidiously, 

glinting under the soft grey light beneath eyelids. 

It bestows upon the wise the boon of understanding 

and spins into reality the coward’s thanatophobia. 

 

For the old woman in the worn brick house, 

it promises peace, love, and eternal bliss. 

For the spurned lover on Fifty-second Street,

it epitomizes heaven. 

 

Still, for the young soul 

unknowing and naive, 

it lingers in the distance: 

the fragments of a long-forgotten dream. 

 

This dream was once a reality, 

and this reality was once a dream–

one the heart had woven 

in the depths of Eve’s womb.

 

Alas, she strung the feeble string of mortality 

into humanity’s harp.

In succumbing to the tune of desire, 

Eve and Adam birthed the clock. 

 

The one that still insidiously ticks 

in the far corner of a neglected dark room, 

biding its time till it strikes, 

faintly – a bug bite. 

 

So, if the coward is lucky he won’t feel it, 

while the wise intuitively perceive it.

Inevitable and eternal, 

the cosmic thread unravels

to the pleasant surprise and dismay of many, 

such is the dilemma of the human condition.